


The Crow Returns Home At Last

by RarePairGremlin



Series: Painting Our World [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination, Banter, Bonding, Character Death, Childhood, Family, Flashbacks, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Karasuno, Kingdoms, Kings & Queens, Memories, Shiratorizawa, death mention but not described, hinted side ships, implied ghost/haunting, medieval theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 08:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20963180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RarePairGremlin/pseuds/RarePairGremlin
Summary: Swallowing against the burning lump and bitter taste in his mouth, Kei inched forward. A heaviness washed over him, made his steady feet unbalanced. He stumbled over a crack in the stone floor, lurching forward and nearly falling. His legs shook with the strain of walking. Something that made him curse, made him angrier. His hand felt as if it was cramping just from trying to keep his weapon in his grasp...





	The Crow Returns Home At Last

**Author's Note:**

> You guessed it, more drabble requests from my twitter. Only they're all turning out way longer than planned 😅 Very lightly edited, trying to finish edits for Kinktober so sorry for any mistakes or typos!
> 
> Color given: Rusted/Faded Gold + Tsukishim Kei
> 
> [ Twitter ](https://twitter.com/RarePairGremlin) | [ My Discord Group, 18+, come chat! ](https://discord.gg/CsX643w) | [ Pillowfort ](https://www.pillowfort.social/RPG) | [ Tumblr ](https://rarepairgremlin.tumblr.com)

The grip on his sword tightened, his fist clenching around the hilt so hard his hand trembled. A wave of deep-set anger bubbled in the pit of his stomach. The heat of it traveled up his throat, threatened to spill past his lips as he stared straight ahead.

His eyes remained focused on the center of the room, locked on the set of thrones. Four of them. Two smaller ones on either side of the two larger. They were made of solid metal, a mix of bronze and gold if his memory of the story he’d been told years ago was correct. All four had plush cushions and fur backs for comfort. 

According to Tenma, they had been his mother's insistence. None of the cushions or furs matched, they’d been added all because his brother had complained after his first time sitting next to their parents during a meeting. His brother…

Swallowing against the burning lump and bitter taste in his mouth, Kei inched forward. A heaviness washed over him, made his steady feet unbalanced. He stumbled over a crack in the stone floor, lurching forward and nearly falling. His legs shook with the strain of walking. Something that made him curse, made him angrier. His hand felt as if it was cramping just from trying to keep his weapon in his grasp.

The tremble in his hand made him feel like a child again, holding his first sword and trying to swing it against the knight training him to use it. He has vague, broken memories about that time. He remembers his brother cheering him on across the courtyard, which was heavily scented with his mother's favorite flowers. Lilacs and apple blossoms. 

His father, he vaguely recollects, had been in his office dealing with new information about something. He thinks it had to do with the war that ripped everything away from him. The knight, Sir Ukai, he’s pretty sure, the eyes in his fuzzy memory said it was, chuckled at his terrible attempts. But the voice, though stern and demanding, was encouraging. 

Kei misses that voice, misses those eyes and the faded moment of his memory. He misses the smell of his mother's flowers and even admits to missing the annoying sounds of his brother's cheers as they carried over the thumps of him being tossed on his ass. Hell, he thinks he even misses being tossed on his ass again and again. 

The sounds of screaming and yelling outside the room were beginning to fade. From him getting lost in the past or from the fight for his future finally coming to an end, he’s not sure. Either way, he was here. He was home. For the first time in nearly ten years, he was actually home again. A fact that should feel warming, welcoming, something that should fill him from head to toe with comfort and contentedness. All it made him feel was angrier. Angrier and lonelier. 

Ghosts of what had been surrounded him, consuming him with memories long forgotten. They weighed him down, their screaming voices flooded his ears and he stumbled again. He was unable to catch himself this time. He hissed through his teeth as his cheek scraped over the broken, crumbling stone floor. A lingering sting told him he’d cut his cheek. A warmth slid slowly down to his jaw as he raised his face off the cold surface and he guessed it to be blood. Coughing, he rose onto his knees, fingers curling over the hilt of his sword again. His palm scratched over the sharp pebbles beneath him, they bit into his flesh painfully but he didn’t rush. 

His mind felt as if it was swimming, tilting from one side to the other as his eyes rose to the thrones again. He’d barely gotten used to sitting in his, had just become old enough to join his family for state affairs when the invasion happened. When someone his family had trusted betrayed them…

Growling he pushed himself off the floor with all the strength he could muster, staggering back on his feet before he regained his balance. The edge of the sword scraped against the stone, the noise made him cringe, it always did for some reason. His shoulder pressed against his ear, rubbing at it in an attempt to rub away the sound as it echoed in his ear. His back straightened and he grasped tightly at the hilt again, raising the edge with purpose. 

His legs shook with the next few steps but evened out until he was walking like he’d been taught. Back straight, head held high and steady, eyes forward and strides confident. Just as his father had been taught, just like he and Akiteru had been taught and just like how he’ll teach his own kids someday. The words that had been repeated to him rang through his mind. Spoken so clearly it was as if his parents were walking next to him again and he found himself whispering them aloud.

“You’re a royal Kei. A prince, a leader from a long line of honorable, determined and confident Kings and Queens. Walk like one. Even when you don’t feel like one, your walk will convince everyone else in the room that you, _you_ are their King.”

He stopped in front of his father's throne, the one that has belonged to the Tsukishima’s for centuries. The one that had been the template for the other three. It had apparently been a huge scandal at the time, his father commissioning a throne for his wife to match his. Completely unheard of for a Queen to have a throne of her own and be a part of the decisions and meetings. But his father had loved his wife so much that he’d wanted her to be included, wanted her to help him build their kingdom together. Out of all the things he remembered clearly, his father’s love for his mother was the clearest. 

Reaching out he placed the tips of his fingers against the arm of the throne. Thick dust puffed into the air around his touch, coated against the pads of his fingers as he dragged them over the surface. He made streaks through the dust, revealing a dull, scratched to hell gold. It wasn’t like any gold he’s seen, darker maybe? It made him think that the information he’d been given, about it being a bronze-gold mix instead of pure, was correct. 

The sound of footsteps scraping and thumping heavily into the room had him freezing, his fingers within reach of the thick, matted fur covering the back of the chair. His ears perked up, listening intently as several people filed into the room. His sword hand steadied, ready to strike if they were the disgusting bandits that had been looting the palace in his absence. 

After the brutal assassination of his family the palace has remained empty aside from groups of bandits, like the ones his party was fighting off, who had hopes of raiding whatever was left. The closer they’d gotten to home, the palace, the more rumors they’d heard surrounding it. The rumors used as an explanation as to why the traitor had fled not long after overtaking it. Of course, there was logical reasoning to explain the rumors, so full of, as most are, ghosts and hauntings of the dead royals. Tall tales of vengeance and revenge, a throne awaiting the return of a prince long thought dead, were spun like silk. 

“Your highness?” Tenma’s soft-spoken voice filled the near silence, accompanied by fading shuffling of heavy feet, weighed down for some by armor, others by guilt. He listened to the echo of their soft timbre as it flowed and echoed through the large room. Lifting up and disappearing into the high ceilings that were covered in cracks and thick vine. 

A memory sparked in his mind as he raised his eyes to stare at the shadowed greenery. He was spinning, no. He was being spun around by someone. His mother? He was giggling, his mirthful laughs filling the room as Tenma’s had. He had his arms thrown over his head, back leaning so he was watching the mural painted on the stone above go around and around and around till he was squealing for them to stop. He was gathered into their arms, his wound around their neck as he looked down at the one holding him. His grinning mouth opened, a name on the tip of his joyous tongue…

“Aki…” he whispered, eyes blinking slow and head lowering to the throne again. It’s been a long time since he’s had a new memory, and even longer since he’s had one so clear…

_“Kei… home...”_ a voice whispered so close he felt a chill wash down his spine as if someone poured water from the river in the trees behind his mother’s garden into his veins. It was always cold, that river. 

_How do I know that?_

Spinning around slowly, his well-worn boots scrapping over the stone, he faced the group that has been growing with him for years. Ever since he finally learned to hold and strike a sword properly, thanks to Ukai’s grandson. The man who basically raised him, who taught him to fight and survive.

His eyes swept over each of them, sighing inwardly, thankful that everyone was accounted for and appeared to be fine. They’re a small group, he’s honestly surprised they’d made it as far as they have. Then again, they did have a few knights and nobles of Siratorizawa to thank for that. They’d offered them connections, supplies, even a few were here with him today in support of his cause. He met each of their gazes directly, the exhaustion of their hard wor through this journey evident on their faces. 

They’re a misfit group, if you now their pasts lie he does, and most of their enemies did, and would continue to, underestimate them. Hell, he had very little hope they’d even survive a month after their campaign began. Yet here they are. Most of them were the kids of workers from the village and palace, all survivors of when the traitor had allowed their followers to do as they pleased. Almost all of them orphans now, either from that night or soon after finding shelter outside Karasuno. They’d eventually found him, one by one, all dead set and determined to fight for him. Even before he’d been willing to fight for himself, they’ve been there.

In front of the group stood Tenma, his brother’s childhood friend. Tenma is one of two people alive that gives him a connection to who he is, and to who his brother was. Sometimes he feels pangs of jealousy over Tenma and Saeko having more time with his family than he ever did, but he always shoves those away. It’s not like feeling that way will change anything that’s happened.

Beside Tenma stood Daichi. Son of a personal knight to his father, one who’d been responsible for his escape and died making sure many of those with him today made it out. Sir Sawamura’s legacy would live on, through his sons and daughter and through him, he’d make sure of it. 

The next faces were ones he didn’t know until they’d found him, presenting themselves at his feet as if he’d been their King back then. Suga, son of a cook from the palace. Asahi, a blacksmiths son whose father had commissioned multiple times for the knights. Azumane, Asahi’s father, had been the one who made the sword in his flashback. According to Tenma, Aki had accompanied his father to the shop when it had been ordered, boasted about helping their father get his first sword. 

Beside them, the trio who’ve been unfortunately named ‘cowards second sons’. Ennoshita, Kinoshita, and Narita. They grew up together like their parents had, are best friends just like their fathers had been. They themselves weren’t the cowards, as the name suggested. No, it was dubbed onto them because their parents had fled once news of the invasion started. Leaving behind their village, their neighbors, even their kids. It was disgusting to him, how such a nickname remained over their heads despite having nothing to do with them. It soiled their reputations, ruined who they tried so hard to be, once people heard it. After all, who wants to associate with anyone labeled a coward?

His focus snapped to the figure fidgeting beside them and his eyes rolled high up into the back of his head before he even focused on their face. Hinata Shouyou has been a constant annoyance since the wannabe knight showed up in his life. Standing outside the stable he’s been reading comfortably in, hands fisted at his sides and chin lifted high in determination. The shorty had loudly declared their name followed by the promise to become a personal knight of his. He’d laughed so hard he’d lost the page he’d been reading from. Unfortunately, his laughter only seemed to spur them on.

Their partner in annoyance, another wannabe knight, this one claiming to be captain of his knights someday, was missing from their side. Kageyama had been gravely wounded and, though doing better if the last correspondence could be trusted, was healing bac in Shiratorizawa. 

Standing far enough away from the group to be noticed was the most interesting duo to the ragtag group. The Tanaka siblings. Both are determined, skilled fighters who are loyal to a fault, but, when you take their lineage into consideration, that could be the reason he succeeds or dies by the same bloodline as his family. Saeko and Ryuu, the daughter and son of the traitor. The children of the one who stole everything he’d ever cared about from him. They stood just as tall as everyone, no doubt basking in the adrenaline of their success from making it this far. But their eyes, they didn’t stare back with bright, shiny hope like the others. Never ones to look away or back down from a stare, their eyes met his dead-on, darkened from sorrow and apology. 

He never thought he’d ever allow them into his company. Not after everything that’s happened, everything he’s learned. But they’ve proven useful so far, and, he thinks, they’ve stepped up and proven their allegiance to him on more occasions than he can count. Time will tell though if they can truly be trusted with their heads attached to their necks. 

His eyes fell slowly from them to the figure stepping out from behind Ryuu, his brow raised in question as Nishinoya’s voice filled the quiet void. It seemed to break the silence surrounding them and several spoke at once, voices bouncing and echoing around him in a roar of noise.

“Can we eat now?”

“So… Now, what do we do?”

“I thought there’d be more of a fight…”

“Right!? So weak. So disappointing,”

“That was terrifying! How are you disappointed!?”

“I’m with Suga on this.”

“Anyone else feel watched?”

“You’re being paranoid, stop before the children hear you and get scared.”

“Uwah!? … I don’t see any children..? What’s so funny!?”

The collection of light-hearted chuckles falling over them in a gentle wave had the corner of his lips twitching up as his eyes met Yamaguchi’s. They shared an eye-roll, their face broke out into a toothy grin while his remained neutral. The sight of his best friend, the only friend he’d had for years after arriving at the Yamaguchi farm, the safehouse Sir Ukai had set up for him in case anything happened, left him with swirling feelings he pushed away. This was not the time nor the place to let himself get lost in emotional confusion. 

Daichi clapped his hands together in front of them to regain the group's attention. It was always impressive how they always managed to take control, focus them all with seemingly so little effort. He knew better though, their actions were well practiced and had formed from experience. If he had the choice of anyone to stand at his side, as a personal knight, a captain, even a confidant, it would be Sawamura Daichi. Often overlooked, almost always underestimated, a strong, dependable force that their enemies didn’t see coming. 

They stepped forward until they were halfway to where he stood next to the thrones. He angled his body to fully face them as they knelt down on a knee, the metal of their armor clanging together as an arm resting on the bent knee. Bowing their head to him their booming voice overpowered any other sound in the room. Their words of pledging their life to him, to the only King they’ll ever follow, had his face burning and his heart pounding heavily in his chest. He swallowed hard against the lump forming high in his throat as Yamaguchi followed, stepping up and kneeling as they too, pledged themself to him and his kingdom.

There weren’t tears in his eyes, they just weren’t. He hasn’t cried in years and he wasn’t crying now. 

One by one his campaign, his people, the ones he’s quietly grown to consider his friends, knelt before him. They all stated the same thing but in their own words. With each boldly spoken statement said so seriously, so honestly, he felt his nerves rise and melt away. The heavy atmosphere lightened, the room felt as it should for the first time since he’d stepped into it. Hopeful. Strong. United. 

Home. It felt like coming home, felt like being home after a long-awaited return. By the time everyone, minus those from Shiratorizawa lingering in the back, was knelt down before him he had a wetness clinging to his cheeks. His body felt light and airy, almost as if he was flying like the crow on his family's insignia. 

Slowly, shakily, he leaned back. His hands grasped the cold, dirty metal of the chair as he began settling himself into his father’s, no, _his_throne. Time seemed to warp around him, bringing an inaudible gasp from his lips as he squeezed his eyes shut. Voices filled his ears, unnatural, far away ones filled with joy and laughter and love. 

As the back of his knees hit the edge of the seat his breath hitched. He choked as he heard words of hope for his future, a conversation from is parents he suddenly remembers overhearing as they tucked him in. Voices hushed, barely noticeable since they’d thought him asleep. A brush to his forehead felt so real he jerked back in surprise even as his mind assured him it was just a memory of his father laying a hand against his forehead, brushing back his hair tenderly. 

Slowly he pressed himself down into the cushions. A fleeting thought of how they felt flatter than he expected melted into an image of his mother coming up behind his father, arms circling his waist as she leaned her nose into his shoulder. His father turned, smiled, pressed a chaste kiss to her head just below her shining crown. Her voice was hazy as it filled his ears, something about how they needed to replace something soon, that she was uncomfortable again…

His arms flattened against the armrests and he choked on a breath, his eyes fluttering shut against another wave of warm tears. The happy yells of him and his brother replaced his mother's voice, drowning out the roar of his pounding heart as the blurred image formed on his eyelids. He and Aki were wrestling in the garden. They tripped, landing in a bush of his mother's flowers. He felt his lips twitch up in a nostalgic smile as he sighed, remembering how much trouble they’d been in for that. They’d ruined the bush, torn their clothes and were covered in small clusters of bruises for days afterward. Aki even said he’d been stung by a bee, but he didn’t believe him for a minute. 

His eyes opened, staring straight ahead at the group again but not seeing them. Instead, the image of him sitting on his father’s lap filled his vision. In his father’s hands was a small, barely detailed map of the kingdom. His father had made it for Aki and now it was him to keep. 

“To practice,” they’d told him as they let him take the paper from their hand. Spinning them around he was laid in his bed, blankets tucked up against him tight as his father explained the value of knowing how to navigate maps with so little landmarks and notes. Behind them his mother made faces at him, imitating his father and making him giggle until the man turned around to shoo his wife away. 

His back pressed tight against the matted fur of the chair and he released the held breath in a painful whoosh. His vision cleared, the voices faded until all he could hear was his own breathing and gusts of wind through the broken windows. His fingers tightened against the armrests as he steadied himself in the present. His eyes met Daichi’s as the man rose from his knees. Swallowing tightly he opened his mouth to speak, voice unwavering and clear.

“Now, we rest. Tomorrow,” his lips rose in a hopeful smile. “Tomorrow we take back _everything_ that belongs to us.”


End file.
